


Free to a Good Home

by forthegreatergood



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Crack, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Just Add Kittens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-19
Updated: 2014-04-19
Packaged: 2018-01-19 22:55:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1487182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forthegreatergood/pseuds/forthegreatergood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki is a weirdly responsible pet-owner, and Tony is just weird.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Free to a Good Home

**Author's Note:**

> All characters property of Marvel.
> 
> Not beta-read. Please post any noticed errors in the comments, and they'll get fixed.

Tony poked at his ceviche. “You know, I really feel like you should pick between cooking something or not cooking something. Cooking it with lime juice is just, I don’t know. Cheating.”

“Are you going to eat it or not? Because if you’re not--” Clint angled his fork at Tony’s plate.

“Hey! I never said I wasn’t going to eat it.” Tony parried the fork with a butter knife. Natasha deftly swiped a piece from the unguarded side of the plate, and he sighed. “Okay, guys? Seriously? Is SHIELD just not feeding you?”

“Stolen food tastes better,” she explained.

“Is that so?” Tony asked, raising his eyebrows. Clint took advantage of his distraction to spear a bite. “Goddammit, Clint.”

“It totally does, though,” Clint said. “Hey!”

Bruce looked up innocently from the coconut shrimp he’d nabbed from Clint’s plate. “What? I’m testing your hypothesis.”

“And?” Tony grumbled.

“And this is definitely better than the shrimp I got from that place yesterday,” Bruce said, taking a bite.

“See?” Natasha asked.

“Are we honestly just not going to talk about the fact that one of our nemeses keeps trying to give us kittens?” Steve demanded.

“Well, he doesn’t keep trying to give me kittens, so my vote on that is gonna have to be nay,” Tony said easily. “If I try to reproduce Bruce’s results on your moules-frites…”

“Maybe keep an eye on your flank before you start planning offensive actions,” Steve pointed out.

“Goddammit, Natasha.” Tony slouched back in his chair and stared at his empty plate. “This is worse than the time we let you play as Russia in Risk.”

“I confess to nothing,” she told him, smirking.

“You don’t have to confess. You’ve got a pile of food you didn’t order right in front of you.”

Natasha and Clint divided the spoils, and Tony groaned.

“I’m not even asking you guys to chip in for dinner! This is completely counterproductive!” he protested. “There is absolutely no reason not to just order what you want.”

“I told you why not,” Natasha said.

“And Bruce backed us up,” Clint added. “It’s science. No arguing.”

Bruce shot him a look and shook his head. “I don’t know if it counts as ‘trying’ if he’s successful, Steve. How did you manage to weasel out of getting a kitten, Tony?”

“I didn’t weasel out of getting a kitten. I threatened to remodel his horns for him, and he left,” Tony said smugly. “Post haste, I might add. Loki might have gotten the better of the rest of you, but my workshop remains a kitten-free zone.”

“Really?” Steve asked, his brows furrowing. “You sure about that?”

Clint rolled his eyes. “Loki took one look at the grease all over everything, and the robots just kind of milling around, and the exposed engines, and then he got that snitty, offended look on his face and walked out.”

“So you weaseled out of getting a kitten by being too irresponsible for the god of chaos to leave one alone with you.” Steve nodded thoughtfully. “That makes a certain degree of sense.”

“For your information, he was trying to stick me with _two_ ,” Tony huffed. “One for me and one for Pepper. Also, how did you know any of that, Clint?”

“Educated guess,” Clint answered with a shrug. 

“And maybe I need to update the passwords to the CC feeds?” Tony asked. Bruce casually sniped a mussel from Steve’s plate, and Tony made an indignant noise when Steve didn’t stop him.

“You set the password to ‘pepper.’ I sort of assumed it was open-access,” Clint protested. 

“JARVIS set the password to that. I just didn’t change it,” Tony groused.

“I’m just not entirely sure why an evil alien god is wandering around with an arm-load of kittens,” Steve sighed. “It doesn’t really fit in with his general scheming.”

“What? Of course it does,” Tony laughed. “Kittens are, pound for pound, some of the most evil, destructive creatures on the planet. It’s like having a bunch of gremlins around that everyone treats you like a monster if you try to eradicate.” He cleared his throat. “Like, you know, you’re all about to do right now. Judging from the looks on your faces.”

“You have a problem with...kittens.” Steve rubbed his forehead. “ _Really?_ ”

“Seriously, dude. Do we need to start keeping an eye on you whenever there’s a puppy within kicking range?” Clint asked, looking alarmed.

“What? No! It’s just, well, have any of you _met_ cats? They knock everything over, they have a sixth sense about what’s the most valuable or important if they somehow can’t get everything knocked over at once, they attack you for no reason, they steal your pens and your styluses, they eat half the food in their dish and then carry on like they’ve been starved, they pick the least convenient space in the room to sleep on, they try to trip you constantly….And then when it’s baby cats, it’s all that _plus_ they don’t know how their bodies work, and they’ll just randomly try to climb you with their tiny little needle claws.”

“Did a cat routinely steal your lunch money at MIT or something?” Clint asked, tilting his head.

Tony sighed noisily and podded at what was left of his dinner. “Point out one inaccuracy in my statement. _One_.”

“There’s nothing, strictly speaking, inaccurate about it,” Bruce said slowly.

“I think it’s more that when we brought up why you don’t like kittens, I don’t think anyone expected you to have a monologue prepared,” Steve explained.

“It wasn’t a monologue! There was no monologue involved!”

“You did the hand gesture,” Natasha said firmly. “It was a monologue.”

“What hand gesture?”

“The hand gesture.” She held her hands in front of her, fingers crooked like she was getting ready to choke something. “The one you always do when you’re monologuing.”

“I don’t even know where to start with that,” Tony snapped. “First, it wasn’t a monologue. I do not have an anti-kitten _monologue_. Second, I do not monologue so frequently that I have specific gestures to accompany the monologues I’m not delivering. Third, I totally did not just do that with my hands. What am I, some Latverian wash-out?”

“I’m beginning to see why Loki didn’t try to leave a pair of kittens with you,” Bruce sighed, shaking his head.

“We could pull up the security footage if you don’t believe us,” Clint offered.

“Loki’s stalking around throwing tiny cats at people he regularly tries to kill. How am I the bad guy here?” Tony demanded.

“I don’t know,” Clint said with a shrug.

“And yet, somehow, you are,” Natasha added.

“It _is_ something of a mystery,” Bruce told him. He glanced at Steve. “So, have you decided what you’re naming yours?”

Steve coughed and flushed. “Nicky.”

“You know, giving them people names just encourages them,” Tony grunted. Clint kicked him under the table. “Ow! What now?”

Natasha pursed her lips. “You didn’t, by any chance, get the one with the dark patch over one eye?”

“She picked me. And the name fits, in a weird way.”

“You named your eye-patch cat after Director Fury?” Clint laughed. “Ballsy.”

“Which ones did you two get?” Steve asked quickly, his blush darkening.

“The blue tortie and the weird little tabby.”

“Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid,” Clint corrected firmly.

“We’re not calling them that,” Natasha retorted.

“We totally are.”

“Which one’s which?” Bruce asked.

“Does it matter?” Clint said. 

“Because it’s not like cats come when you call them,” Tony grunted.

Clint glared at him. “Because they’re never more than six inches away from each other. Loki was adamant about them being adopted as a pair. And about them being adopted in the first place. And about the planet being in desperate need of a conqueror. Which I thought was kind of a weird segue, but he looks like he hasn’t been getting a lot of sleep lately. It would also explain why he’s been so quiet the past two months. Getting a litter that size socialized takes some doing, even with magic and a flexible schedule.”

“Maybe we should start leaving pregnant strays on his doorstep every couple of months,” Bruce suggested. Tony snorted. “What? The kittens were all in good health, and he was clearly paying enough attention to them to recognize their preferences and temperaments. Coulson got saddled with the mom, who’d just made a full recovery from getting spayed. And it’s not like shelters aren’t always looking for good foster homes.”

“Or like we couldn’t use him having less time on his hands,” Steve added. “I actually got to finish that charity triathlon Pepper signed me up for, and I haven’t had to reschedule any of my VA visits or school appearances for the last six weeks.”

“And the next time you want to take any kind of vacation, you’ll have to get a pet-sitter,” Tony added with a certain venomous cheeriness.

“Only if we all take it together,” Steve said. “Nick Furry and Otto Frisk get along very well, so Bruce and I have an agreement.”

“Otto Frisk? Otto Frisk.” Tony stared at Bruce. “You named your cat after Dr. Frisch. Of course you did. Why am I even surprised that you did?”

“He has a very scholarly demeanor,” Bruce said, swatting Clint’s hand away from the carton containing his papadam. “Stop that.”

“Never,” Clint said breezily.

“Who wound up with the two he was trying to unload on me if you guys were all already accounted for?” Tony asked.

“Bobbi wound up with the white one with the points,” Clint said.

“And Monica took the gray striped one after it turned out she was the only one the cat actually liked,” Natasha added.

“Wait, he wouldn’t give me one, but he let _Bobbi_ have one?” Tony demanded. “Bobbi’s even less responsible than me. I can’t believe that jerk let Bobbi have one of my kittens.”

Clint and Natasha both snickered, Bruce rubbed the bridge of his nose, and Steve sighed.

“What?” Tony crossed his arms.

“Nothing. Just finish your ceviche before it gets warm,” Bruce said, shaking his head.

“Abraham Kitten is very independent, and Bobbi’s already got a few people tapped to look after him when she’s on assignment,” Steve assured him.

“Was there a contest to come up with who could name their cat the most ridiculous thing? Because this is just…” He trailed off, waving his hands. “Abnormal.”

“What would you have named him?” Clint asked, nettled.

“Something less bizarre, like Whiskers or Mittens. Back me up here, Cap.”

“Otto Frisk and Abraham Kitten are way less bizarre than some of the stuff we used to call cats after they’d lived a little while,” Steve said. “Whiskers and Mittens and Fluffy were what you called kittens if you weren’t sure they were gonna make it, or if they weren’t really yours. Remember, we didn’t really have vaccines, and most people didn’t get their pets fixed.”

“But you know to do that now, right?” Tony asked. “We’re not going to have a bunch of rabies-ridden cats in heat prowling around the tower? Oh god, we are, aren’t we?”

“They came with copies of their medical records, two cat-care guides, a list of emergency vet clinics, the paperwork for their tags and licenses, and the business cards of the two vets who’ve been treating them so far,” Natasha told him, rolling her eyes.

“It was actually a little freaky. I felt like I should have been signing something and being told I’d be disavowed if I was captured,” Clint added. “I’ve never seen him bring that kind of game to any of his take-over-the-world plans, that’s for damn sure.”

“I think he wants to take over the world way less than he wants to ruin Thor’s day,” Bruce said. “Which, yes, point. I’d really prefer he not start giving that one hundred and ten percent.”

“Speaking of which, how did Thor not get roped into this?” Tony asked, stealing one of Steve’s fries. “It seems like he should have come in for most if not all of it.”

“Well, since _most_ people don’t react to adorable balls of fluff and sunshine like they were plague rats, Thor would probably interpret it as a gesture of affection. So.” Natasha shrugged. “Darcy got one, though.”

“Do I even want to know what she named it?” Tony sighed. He spooned the rest of his ceviche onto Clint’s plate.

“Ew, Tony.” Clint wrinkled his nose and carefully pushed it away from the rest of his food. Tony glared at him. “What? You can’t just go putting stuff on people’s plates like that. It’s gross.”

Natasha nodded solemnly.

Tony scowled at them. “I’ve seen sounder logic out of flat-earthers. You guys understand that, right?”

“Emily Kittenson,” Steve volunteered.

“What?” Tony glanced at him irritably before turning back to glare at Natasha and Clint.

“Darcy named her kitten Emily Kittenson.”

“Please tell me it was a contest. Please tell me you are not all just this independently weird about cats.”

“Says the man with a ‘cats are out to get us’ spiel locked and loaded,” Bruce muttered.

“They _are_ out to get us,” Tony sputtered. “You just wait until Otto Frisk has his eensy little paw-daggers fastened into your thigh at six in the morning and you never even saw it coming. All you wanted was a bowl of frosted flakes, but now suddenly you’re hulking out and taking the whole kitchen with you. Why? Because Count Catula might weigh six pounds and be able to tell when it’s dinner-time, but he still thinks of you as a conveniently mobile piece of furniture.” He sat back and crossed his arms. “Just don’t act like I didn’t warn you when we’re bringing you a new pair of pants on the other side of the continent courtesy of Loki’s four-legged minion.”

“Dude,” Clint said after a moment.

“Seriously, Tony,” Natasha sighed.

“Are you _sure_ you’re okay?” Steve asked.

“So, we’re agreed on this? We should get pregnant cats onto Loki’s doorstep on a quarterly basis?” Bruce prompted.

“Did we agree on that?” Tony asked.

“Sure.” Steve shrugged.

“Check the tapes,” Clint said. “We totally did.”

“It’s easy enough to discontinue if results prove inconsistent,” Natasha pointed out.

“Operation Felis Interruptus appears to be go, then.”

“We’re not calling it that, though,” Steve told him. “Can everybody please not call it that?”

He glanced around the table to find all of them nodding sympathetically, which would have been comforting if Tony, Clint, and Natasha weren’t smiling the way they did when he was going to get the precise opposite of what he’d asked for. He sighed and stole one of Clint’s shrimp off Bruce’s plate.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] Free to a Good Home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3797764) by [forthegreatergood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/forthegreatergood/pseuds/forthegreatergood), [reena_jenkins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reena_jenkins/pseuds/reena_jenkins)




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